


Plan B

by Cloudlb



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Business, Jim Copes, M/M, Nominated, Reincarnation, Search and Rescue, Service Dogs, Spirit Animals, body piercings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-01
Updated: 2010-10-01
Packaged: 2017-10-12 08:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/122916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudlb/pseuds/Cloudlb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein a retired police captain advertises for a shipping clerk and a certain bouncy young student needs a job. Bam! Holy Grail Time! A re-do AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plan B

**Author's Note:**

> Blair is about to turn 20 here, and his character has been updated a bit; Jim is in his early 40s. Also, in RL, condoms are the way to go. Hints of spanking & BDSM. Received a Light My Fire nomination. Thank you, Maigret, for the beta.

It was an incongruously beautiful day, considering the scene. Blue skies and fluffy clouds weren't ordinarily associated with funerals. And yet, this internment was one of the saddest the mourners could remember. A youngster, loved by all, untimely dead in a stupid accident.

Unseen by the gathered crowd, flickering in the shadows under shade trees close to the gravesite, two figures solemnly observed the grievous scene. They knew that the tragedy was sadder still; for with this death, another good man would suffer, until the soul could be reborn. Glancing at each other, the wolf and jaguar turned and melted into the shadows. They needed a new plan, and there was no time to lose.

***

_Twenty-plus years later:_

Blair shifted his pack to his other shoulder as he stood in the cold office in the basement of the Student Union, reading the job listings posted.

_Man, I am so pissed about losing that job, Blair thought. Guess I wasn't good looking enough for that slime ball pizza manager. Maybe I can get something with steadier hours. Oh, well--at least I got wheels out of it._

In Blair's mind, the souped-up but ugly 1990 Jeep, recently purchased for $1,000 cash, was a blessing from heaven that ought to have neon clouds and cherubim hovering over it. Finally—transportation! He could now look a little farther outside the immediate university area for a job; look for something good, not just chickenshit burger-flipping jobs. Blair fingered the plugs in his lobes, knowing that his piercings made some people leery about hiring him.

Blair jotted down the numbers of the postings he was interested in, and made his way up to the window. The plump girl with black pigtails working behind the job window took his interest slips and his student ID and came back a few minutes later with printouts of the job descriptions. "Here you go. Each job listing states how to contact them. If you need to use the computers or fax machines, you have to sign up over there." She pointed out another window to her left. She looked bored, but surprisingly, volunteered more information. "If you're at all interested in this job," tapping one of the listings, "you should get on it right away. A lot of people are picking that one."

Thanking the girl, Blair turned away and shouldered past a line of bundled up students and out into the cold winter light. He held up the job listing she had pointed out and reviewed it again.

***

_Shipping Clerk/Personal Assistant_

Part-time job involves clerical & shipping duties for small online retailer. Job will also be for Gal or Girl Friday--general personal errands/odd jobs for partially disabled owner of business. Visit the World Wide Web at SenseSolutions for further info. Some clerical and computer experience helpful. Cascade office/warehouse space, but must be able to travel to Kee Creek regularly. Must have reliable vehicle & insurance. Please fax or email cover letter, resume, & letter of recommendation. Retired police officer--background and references will be checked!

***

Whew! Former police officer, huh? Well that wasn't a problem. Unless he told Naomi. Blair grinned to himself, thinking about his mother's reaction. And since he now had a vehicle, he could easily drive back and forth to Kee Creek, a little town about 30 minutes outside of Cascade up the coast. That "SenseSolutions" even sounded like the job might tie in to the subject of his studies. Mentally composing his cover letter, he headed back to the noisy but cheap house he shared with a constantly varying number of other students.

***

The next day, a tall, well-built man of middle years stood in the office of his new home, scowling at his laptop and the papers in his hand. A large white dog sat alertly at his feet, and made an interrogatory noise. "It's okay, girl," the man said, absently, stroking the fine head of the animal. He sat down heavily in his chair (new, to go with the new desk, and new laptop) and begin to scroll through the emails and faxes received in response to his advertisement. How hard can it be to find someone to do odd jobs?

Pretty damn hard, apparently, Jim thought. Jesus, don't they teach these kids anything about how to write a business letter? Poor grammar, incorrect style, sloppy spelling. He discounted anything with spelling errors. Anyone too lazy to do a spell check would be too lazy to suit him, as well as anyone whose email contained textspeak. Talk about annoying!

Wait—here was one--Brandi with an i. Freshman, majoring in pre-law, with a letter of recommendation attached from her father. He looked through the rest of the applications and found one more whose spelling and presentation were acceptable. He picked up the phone, pleased. Surely one of these girls--Brandi with an i or-- what was the other one? Blair, yeah--would work out.

***

_Hanging Chimes from Bali: Provides a soothing backdrop to attract and beguile your senses. Two styles: Long, with red accents, or short with green accents. Free shipping with any order over $50 with SenseSolutions!_

***

Jim was still scowling two days later, and this time he had a throbbing headache on top of his foul mood. He tried to smooth out the pain lines in his forehead, while concentrating on his breathing. It was a nice day out (for Cascade that meant clouds but no rain) and he should have felt okay; but being in the city was always hard on his senses, especially now since he spent most of the time in Kee Creek. Even staying in his beloved loft again didn't help.

Coupled with the assault on his senses was his growing irritation with the whole "employee" issue. All he needed was someone to help him out, but unfortunately, Brandi with an i had not worked out--or, at least, she was a no-show. Brianna, a referral from a friend, not only was a poor speller, but stank of marijuana. And Fifi didn't like her. The dog was a good judge of character. Now Jim was seated at the work desk in his commercial space waiting for the last candidate. This Blair had been a surprise when Jim talked to him on the phone. He had a nice voice, Jim thought, but he had been expecting a girl with that name. Jim snorted. He had "Bs" on the brain. Maybe the third B will be the charm.

The official home of SenseSolutions was in an industrial area not too far from Prospect which was slowly being yuppified. This particular building complex had been converted to work/live spaces, small commercial areas, and art spaces. A row of corrugated steel roll-up doors punctuated the brick facade, and a wide asphalt drive wound its way through the buildings. Next door to Jim was a sculptor who listened to classical music, which Jim actually liked, and the space on the other side seemed to be used exclusively as storage. Jim considered himself lucky.

He glanced at his watch as he heard another vehicle enter the compound. Good. He's on time. Jim sat in his small office area and watched a muddy brown Jeep Cherokee with big tires rumble its way down the lane. Fifi was on alert, but not nervous. He stepped to the door with the dog closely behind him. When he got a good look at the guy, Jim could feel his eyebrows start to climb.

The young man who climbed out of his jeep had obviously done his best to clean up for the job interview. He had on a clean, pressed pair of khaki pants and a white button down dress shirt. The rest of him, however, was . . . bizarre, to Jim's eyes. Jim figured since he was stuck on B-words, he ought to be consistent. The shirt was buttoned over a dark long sleeve t-shirt, and his pants were held up by a woven and fringed belt. His hair appeared to be in dreadlocks, but Jim couldn't tell how long it was, because it was neatly clubbed in another woven scarf. The kid was wearing an extraordinary amount of jewelry, too. Leather cords and beads were wrapped around his wrists and his neck. He bristled with complicated piercings, including wooden plugs in his earlobes and a ring in his left nostril. Noting all this in a flash, Jim's perusal was interrupted by the young man's blinding smile and brilliant blue eyes.

He's beautiful! Jim thought involuntarily, and then immediately rolled his eyes to himself. What is this, 'Brought to you by the Letter B' day? Brother!

"Hey man, I'm looking for Jim Ellison in 28B?" The guy looked doubtfully at Jim, and then down at a folder in his hand, as if checking the directions. Fifi started to vibrate with eagerness, giving the impression of wagging her tail, even though she was far too well-trained for that. She whined just a little, and looked up at her master.

"I'm Ellison."

The kid looked up, bright and eager. "Oh! Oh, I'm sorry, I expected someone . . ." Momentarily flustered, he regrouped. "Well, anyway, I'm Blair Sandburg. Nice to meet you." The young man held out his hand and smiled blindingly.

It was a strong hand, attached to a strong wrist, but Jim barely noticed that. He was staring into the kid's eyes and grasping his hand, and it was like a door opening in his head. His senses suddenly ballooned outward, sharpened. His sight was caught by a silver wolf charm dangling around the kid's neck. His hearing was drawn to a loud, rhythmic beat.

"Uh, Mr. Ellison?"

Jim blinked, and noticed he'd been holding the kid's hand for too long. And that he'd been hearing his heartbeat. The guy's smile had dimmed somewhat, and he was looking up at him rather anxiously.

"You okay, man?" Concerned and intelligent blue eyes tried to capture his, but Jim looked away.

"Fine," he said curtly. "Come on in. And call me Jim." Motioning Sandburg into his office space, his eyes automatically dropped to the ass preceding him. It was high and round and . . . Shit. He jerked his gaze up to safer areas. Sandburg's broad, tanned face was very alive as he curiously looked around the space, which combined an office and stock storage. He bounced a little as he moved toward the folding chair Jim indicated. He looks like a little, brown, bouncy puppy, Jim thought--with a fantastic backside. Shit!

"Oh, hey, girl." Sandburg squatted down to get a good look at Fifi. He didn't try to pet her, which earned him some points. Of course, with her bright pink service vest with its patches showing against her snowy coat, it was hard to miss she was a service dog, not just a pet. "You are beautiful! You're not an albino, what are you?" He looked up at Jim.

"She's a white German Shepherd." Jim couldn't keep the fondness out of his voice. Fifi's love and her talents had kept him alive and sane for the past few years.

"Well, she certainly is a pretty girl. And attentive. Can I pet her?" Both dog and young man looked up at Ellison for a moment with identical expressions of hope. Giving the signal to Fifi, she immediately wagged her tail and licked Sandburg's face. It was an unusual demonstration for the serious dog, and Blair looked even more like a puppy, or a little boy, as the two played. Blair laughed, "Okay, okay girl. I get it. You like me, you really like me!"

The sight of the two bonding made Jim feel as if a bomb had gone off in his chest. He tore his eyes away from the kid's shining face, and tried to focus on the interview, pulling out his copy of the young man's resume. He had thought the resume exaggerated, but now he wasn't too sure.

Blair was holding something out to him. "Here are some letters of recommendation. I'm sorry I didn't have them available to send to you with my resume. But I also brought a certified copy of my transcript."

Impressed with the kid's preparedness, Jim took the papers and started to look them over. The transcript showed a third or fourth-year student with a lot of classes under his belt--and a 4.0 GPA. Anthropology, Biology, Psychology, and more. Taken with the resume which listed 5 languages spoken, including Hindi, seminars and field studies attended in various parts of the world, and even a paper published, Jim, who was no slouch in the brains department himself, felt slightly intimidated. For a second.

He drew himself up. "So, buddy, here's the deal. I've recently retired from the Force. I've started up this little business, and moved out of town to a new place in Kee Creek. I'm ready to take the business to the next level, but I need someone to help me out with the inventory and shipping. There's no brick-and-mortar store, just a website. Think you can handle that?"

"Oh, absolutely, sure!" Blair nodded eagerly, his bound hair bobbing up and down with him. "Last year, I was an administrative assistant at the U copy center. I had to keep track of the supplies, enter sales data, and assist the director. I also handled boxes full of paper and all that stuff." Blair looked around toward the back of the space where the shelves were ordered in rows. "So, basically you need someone to receive shipments from the suppliers, store it, take orders from your customers, pack the merchandise, and ship it out, right?"

Pleased with the guy's grasp, Jim responded. "That's right. I have a computer inventory program; you would have to enter data into that. I'll be able to do a lot of the work myself from home, and monitor remotely, but I just want someone here most afternoons to man the phone, receive shipments, and be a regular presence."

"Sure, I get that. Be a warm body."

Jim's senses had no trouble discerning the heat of the young man's body. Yeah, I bet you're hotter than a habanero, Chief, he thought. He forced his eyes out of the half-lidded stare they'd acquired. "That's only half the job, though. The other involves doing personal errands for me and helping me around my new place. That means coming out to Kee Creek twice a week, doing some physical labor, some menial stuff, and probably some house sitting, too, since I get called out of town a lot suddenly. Go to the grocery store for me, help me out with the dogs, that sort of thing. I'm willing to work with your school schedule, because that's important, but I want someone for 20-30 hours a week."

Blair was nodding. "Yes, that's absolutely no problem. My classes are usually in the morning, so I can come whenever you want in the afternoon."

"Okay. The Jeep belong to you?" Jim nodded toward the big brown vehicle outside.

"Yep! Just got it a couple of months ago." Blair's smile faltered when Jim stood up.

"Let's see it. I'll need a copy of your driver's license and insurance, too."

The two men and one dog circled the vehicle, discussing the tires, the mileage, and the enhancements done to the engine. Jim tried to make up his mind about this one; his real mind, not the one in his pants. Engaging, smart, eager. (Beautiful, Brilliant, and Bouncy, that other mind supplied). He sniffed delicately while Sandburg was on the other side of the car. He smelled – male -- and Jim's testicles tightened. No other warning signals appeared. On the contrary, the man's scent overall was sweet and earthy. Tantalizing.

To distract himself from this line of thought, Jim leaned up against the Jeep and crossed his arms, which appeared to intimidate Sandburg a bit. Good. Pleased that he hadn't lost his touch, he said, "Look, Chief, here's the straight scoop. I'm a grumpy old ex-cop. I'm frequently ill. I have a condition which sometimes rises to the level of disability. I'm allergic to everything and sometimes have weird sense reactions and absence seizures. I've a new house, a new business, and, frankly, I could use some help. You game?"

Blair looked around with a smile. "I am so game! When do you want me to start?"

Jim considered the too-attractive ball of energy before him carefully. He put on his sternest face and pointed: "I need quiet. I don't like distractions. You don't look quiet to me!"

Sandburg's energy vibrated less intensely. His eyes widened and his mouth softened. "Oh, I can do quiet, too. No distractions. Got it!"

"We'll see." How this kid could ever be anything but a distraction, Jim didn't know. "How about tomorrow at 2? We can go through the inventory and shipping procedures and we can talk about the schedule."

"I'll be here! And thanks, man. You won't regret it." Blair shook Jim's hand exuberantly.

I'm already regretting it, kid, he thought. He hadn't wanted to pound someone into the mattress so hard, or so instantly in—forever. He could see it now—his fledgling business KO'd in its first year by a sexual harassment suit.

Jim and Fifi stood to usher the young man out of the office.

"And Jim? I can call you Jim, right?" Blue eyes peeked slyly up at him. "You are sooo not old!" A flash of grin and brown Jeep and brown kid were gone.

Why, that little shit. He was flirting with me! The guy was hyper, talkative, weird -- and way too young and sexy for Jim's peace of mind. And he smelled really damn good.

Jim mentally added another B to his list: Big trouble!

***

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***

The following evening, Jim stretched out on the black leather chaise in his living room with a glass of good red wine, sighing contentedly. He felt good--damn good. He had spent the afternoon with Sandburg at the warehouse going through the inventory procedures. He'd say this about the kid--Sandburg was smart. He had a lot of questions and good suggestions, and they had gotten quite a bit accomplished. Jim had returned home in good spirits and full of energy, and after a hard workout, a soak in the hot tub, and a steak sandwich, was now happily enjoying his territory and the fruits of all the months of hard labor on his house.

God, he loved it here. Jim had been surprised and grateful to receive this prime coastal land from his Dad's estate after he passed. When living in the city overwhelmed him again and it became too hard to continue working for the police force, he made plans to build this house out here.

His living room was dark; lit only by low-level accent lighting carefully placed around the open-plan living area and the fire in the fireplace, but it was more than enough to allow the Sentinel to gaze out upon the ocean. Jim smiled to himself and sipped his wine, savoring the rich play of flavors in the vintage.

One of the unexpected benefits of his condition was discovered only after he stopped fighting it so hard. By relaxing and letting himself enjoy his senses, he found one of the keys to controlling them. Of course, he had to be careful not to dwell too much on any one sense. His years of trial and error had shown him the importance of a variety of stimulus. Just now, for example, he had soft music on the stereo, as well as the music of the waves, constantly soothing and providing a backdrop to his world. He had the feel of the leather against his skin, as well as the silk of his robe, and the silk of Fifi's head as he stroked her. He had the complex taste of the wine, and the woody aroma of the fire, added to the sweet aroma of the unlit vanilla candles, the various smells from the kitchen, the animals, and the salt air. For sight, he had the undeniably satisfying sight of his new home, finished at last and perfectly designed for him, as well as the broad expanse of the ocean past the cliff his house was built into.

Returning his eyes to the waves, he let his mind wander and his senses play. He slipped off the robe until he was naked to the breeze, feeling a sensual thrill at the forbidden action, but confident that no one could see him. He shivered and squirmed against the leather, enjoying the sound of it as it squeaked against his body. He sipped his wine, and let the other hand trail down his chest, toward the cock that was slowly rising in delight. He felt so good, and he was so horny, and he knew exactly why, dammit! That kid! When he was around Blair he felt--energized somehow. Like all his hairs (those left to him) were pointing at the kid like compass needles pointing to the pole. Just like his dick.

Finally, relaxed and alone in his own space, Jim allowed himself to remember that afternoon and face what his subconscious had been trying to tell him.

***

Rising from his knees, Blair leaned over to adjust the bottom bins on the shelf. Jim again hastily averted his eyes from the kid's denim-covered ass. "So, you've personally chosen all these inventory items based on your own experience?"

"Well, some of them I don't use personally, but my customers have different sensitivities and needs, so I am trying to provide a range of choices."

"Hmm." Blair didn't comment further, but appeared very thoughtful.

They had already been through the order taking routines, and were in the process of familiarizing his employee with the inventory. A variety of cleaning products, from organic to odorless, non-scented household items, and personal care products for sensitive skin made up a large part of the inventory. Homeopathic and herbal remedies (about which the kid appeared to know a hell of a lot more than he did), natural scented candles and herbal air fresheners, sleep masks, white noise generators, soothing chimes, and the like rounded out the rest. Jim had been slowly doing his own kind of testing, and building relationships with the vendors.

"So, you must have really sensitive skin, huh? It must suck to have so many allergies." Blair threw back his hair, which turned out not to be dreaded, but was instead long, distinct curls, now only partially bound in a complicated knot on top of his head. The rest of it was swinging free past his shoulders. Jim wondered why he didn't zone on the sight.

"You know that I'm doing a double major in biology and anthropology, right?" Blair didn't pause for affirmation. "Well, see-it's funny. My field of study generally is anthropology, and specifically the senses, and how they were interpreted and used in prehistoric cultures. That's why I got so excited when I saw your ad. Fits right in with my studies, see?"

Jim started to get a panicky feeling, but Blair continued on, oblivious.

"Ever since I was a boy, I have been fascinated by people who use their senses in different ways. You know, like wine tasters, and perfume makers. There's even a legend of people with enhanced senses who serve their tribe as a kind of watchman. They're called Sentinels, and--"

"Yeah, yeah, Chief." Jim cut him off hastily. "You're a regular Darwin, aren't you? Look--why don't you just concentrate on reading me the serial numbers of those brushes there. I'll check them against the inventory list." Sandburg had given him a strange look, but amiably allowed himself to be diverted.

The two men continued to work, but inside, the Sentinel was reeling. How could he know? It had taken Jim several painful years of running down obscure references before he was able to put together what was happening to him. He probably never would have figured out if he hadn't finally remembered his time in Peru. And there were still missing pieces; that book by Burton, for instance. And now this snot-nosed kid casually brings up Sentinels in conversation? How is that possible? Sandburg must be the only other human in North America besides him and Simon who knew the term.

Fifi, patiently watching them count inventory, had whined uneasily, sensing her master's agitation. Jim tried to calm himself by breathing deeply of the other man's scent, letting its seductive aroma fill and soothe him. When he realized what he was doing, Jim groaned inwardly. It wasn't possible, was it? He remembered the feeling of recognition he felt when they met. It couldn't be, not this punk kid, after waiting so long . . .

***

Even now, hours later, Jim could still recall the scent of the young man, and the sound of his voice and his heartbeat, the glint of his nose ring, the way his mess of hair tumbled around him . . .

Jim groaned out loud, as he lowered his hand to fondle his now very stiff cock. He let himself dwell on the boy—okay, he was over 18, but just this once Jim let out his inner pervert. Jim certainly felt a dirty thrill, fantasizing about his young employee, but right now it just made him hotter. Jim began to pant, as he let himself face his hunger. God the kid was beautiful. Flashing eyes, pouting, fuckable mouth--- What would he taste like?

His hand worked faster on the shaft, then slower around the head, then stopped. Unaware of the erotic picture he made as his taut body writhed on the chaise in the firelight, Jim fluttered his hands all along his torso, letting his senses arouse him beyond that of ordinary men. Lightly, so lightly, he caressed his nipples, and then slid his hands down his groin to either side of his penis. He imagined Blair was there, right now. He longed to feel the texture of the boy's skin. He would dive his nose behind his ear to nuzzle the fragrant spot. He would skim his hands along the wiry shoulders and down the sides. He would fondle the piercings the kid had in his nipples . . . "Uuugh!"

Jim began to moan and twist this way and that, finally raising himself up on his knees and facing the back of the chaise. He grabbed his cock and set it against the cool, slick leather, and began to rub. Panting harshly, he focused on the kid--Blair. He imagined himself plastered against the kid's back, buried balls deep in that tight, muscular ass he had tried so hard to ignore. Rubbing harder and harder, his focus was all on the fantasy of fucking Blair against the couch. God, his little butt was so sweet. Jim grunted, as his heavy cock slid against the leather, the texture arousing him unbearably. His strong ass flexed and pumped, and his balls swung in their pouch, each tug adding to his fantasy.

Yeah, so good! His. Fucking. Guide! And with that thought out in the open, Jim shuddered and groaned as he came messily against the couch, the delicious image of his Guide spending himself in orgasm vivid behind his lids.

Goddamn it all to hell!

 

***  
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***

"I got me a car, it's as big as a whale, and we're heading on the down to the Love Shack! WOO!"

Blair sang loudly and off-key to the song on the radio, his left arm banging on the side of the Jeep out the window, and his ass bouncing on its seat, as he drove down the highway toward Kee Creek. Man, I feel so good, he thought to himself, enjoying the day and looking forward with his meeting with his boss.

Ellison had intrigued him from the start. From the "retired police officer" of the ad, he had been expecting someone older, more paunchy, more disabled. Jim was -- none of that. Jim was big, buff and gorgeous, that was all, in that kind of macho, soldier way. Hard body; hardass. Not to mention that the guy pinged big time. Blair was sure that Jim had been checking out his ass more than once. Blair had intercepted a few unguarded predatory looks from the big man, and he shivered in delight at the memory.

Although Jim was his boss, he couldn't help but speculate about the guy's sexual tastes. Especially since it looked like Blair was right up his alley. Blair imagined Jim's big, fit body decked out in the classic leatherman garb reminiscent of Tom of Finland. He'd look good in it, wouldn't he, he thought dreamily. Fuck yeah! The guy was tripping all his kinks. Blair grinned to himself as he felt his heart speed up and his balls tighten.

He adjusted himself in his jeans and tried to focus on the road twisting its way through the coastal range. But he let himself dwell for just a few minutes longer on pleasant images of sculpted pecs and corded neck suspended over him. . .

Woo! Love Shack, baby, yeah!

Trying to curtail his lascivious thoughts, Blair considered the older man. Beyond the instant rapport and sexual attraction Blair had felt, Jim had surprised him several times already. Some of his reactions were just a little . . . Blair couldn't think of the right word. Just – off. His boss had been pretty grumpy the last couple of days over the phone, as Blair settled in to the office to work. Finally, Jim had apologized, saying that he had been suffering headaches. Blair sympathized with the man who was so sensitive that he needed to move out of the city to survive, but he was pretty sure that wasn't the whole story.

Now Blair was paying his first visit to the man's home out in the boonies. Following his directions, he tooled his Jeep up verdant, if rather steep and damp terrain, until he found a marker with the right number on it nearly at the crest of a hill. Blair parked in a graveled space and climbed out of the car.

Blair could hear the rhythmic roar of the ocean. He also heard barking, so he followed the sound around toward the side of the property. Rounding the end of low wall, he saw Jim working with Fifi and another dog. Jim was in fenced off area, running a medium sized black puppy through an obstacle course. Fifi was supervising.

Blair caught his breath as he caught sight of Jim. His boss was wearing worn jeans, boots, and a black t-shirt emblazoned with the logo of the Cascade PD. His spine was straight, and his balding head tracked the dog's progress with intense focus. When the dog had finished running the course, Jim praised him by giving him a treat, then raised his head and looked straight at Blair with a broad grin. The grin made the older man look so alive, and happy, that Blair felt his heart contract with love. Oh my god, Blair thought, I've been hit with the thunderbolt! Just like in The Godfather!

Resisting the urge to giggle like a Sicilian virgin, he headed toward Jim with a big, faux-confident smile himself. "Hi, Jim! I see you have another helper," he nodded toward the dog, which appeared to be a young black lab.

"Yep. This is Daisy, and she's my foster dog. She's in training to be a Search and Rescue dog, or possibly a service dog if she shows aptitude for that. She's talented, but still a goofy puppy." Reaching down toward the dog, he petted the big head fondly. He let Daisy greet Blair, which she did with cheerful doggy enthusiasm, then led both dogs into the spacious outdoor run and closed the chain link fence.

"So," Blair said, "that seems like a really good cause. Dogs can do so many awesome things if they're trained right."

Jim nodded, as he led the way down around the cliff side of the property to the main part of the house. The house was beautiful, built into the cliff to take advantage of the views, in a modern, masculine style that suited its owner. Blair gawked at the elegant design.

The other man explained, "You know I was a police officer, right? Detective, Major Crimes, Cascade PD? After I--became ill--I couldn't work the streets anymore. But I had too much seniority and experience for any of the mid-level positions open, so I was given a choice: A captain's position, either in Public Relations, or in Rescue and Human Services. Guess which one I took? Can you imagine me in public relations?" Entering the kitchen, he offered Blair a drink of water. "Here."

"Thanks man." Blair continued to look around the home, wide eyed. Wow. It looked like something out of a magazine. The house was literally carved out of the cliff, in several levels, with natural seeming rock lintels and a wide glass window designed to look invisible, which took advantage of the spectacular view. The kitchen was simple wood and stainless steel. The floors were some black stone. Marble? Concrete? Blair continued to look around as he said, "So. Search and Rescue?"

"Right. At least it was something I had been trained for, in the military," said Jim wryly. "All the K-9 units were under my command, as a matter of fact. I'd never had a dog before, but I got to know the K-9 officers and their partners very well, and developed a respect for them. Before I retired, they introduced me to several dogs before I found Fifi."

Jim's face softened as he thought about his service dog. "She's turned out to be perfect for me, even alerting me to seizures before they begin, which is rare. Before I had Fifi, I wasn't even supposed to drive. Now I help out sometimes by fostering and training young dogs. I'm involved in national service dog and SAR K-9 training organizations, and Daisy is my second foster dog. Right now, Fifi and I also do special search and rescue consulting." And Jim went on to explain how he and the dog used their training to assist on emergency search and rescue missions.

But Blair was focused on what he had said about seizures. He had mentioned them before, which explained the disability, but . . . could it be?

"I'm glad you have Fifi, then. She's quite a princess, too, isn't she? Fifi's a good name for her."

Jim nodded. "She is. Her real name is Wolfie de la Princessa Altura, so you got the princess part right. She's a great SAR dog, too. I take her with me when I do consulting."

Blair started. Wolfie! Man, how strange was that? Jim couldn't know about Wolfie!

However, before Blair could start questioning him, Jim gave him a piece of paper and some money and said, "Here Chief. Can you go to the grocery store for me? All those smells and screaming kids give me a headache. After you're done with what I have for you to do, I'm gonna make dinner for us. How's that sound?"

How did that sound? Fantastic! Blair took the list, promising himself a talk with the man later. He was starting to get a niggling feeling . . .

 

***

Several hours later, Blair finally stomped into the main house, after finishing up some work for Jim in his greenhouse.

"Whoa there, little buddy!" Jim said, meeting Blair quickly near the door into the utility room, dressed in an apron. "Don't be bringing those muddy boots into my clean house!"

"Yes, ma'am," Blair replied impishly. Getting a swat on the head for his trouble, Jim just pushed him in the opposite direction, through a stone causeway that linked the utility area to the main house. "Go clean up over there. I put out some clean sweats for you, okay?"

Well, okay. Blair let himself be shoved to the other side of the corridor, into a room which held a gym, sauna, and--hot damn! A hot tub! Shucking his boots and jeans, which had become quite muddy after working on the other side of the property, Blair thought, feed me, clothe me, fuck me! S'all okay with me. He smiled in anticipation.

Jim had cooked Italian: Baked ziti, salad, and bread. Jim explained, "I have to be careful about spices. Sometimes strong or strange spices can catch me off guard, so ethnic food can be tricky. Italian's usually pretty reliable."

The older man seemed anxious that Blair appreciate his hospitality. Jim fixed his eyes on Blair's face with intensity, making Blair feel flushed and shivery. There was that look again. "Thanks so much for this, man. You didn't have to do this."

Jim's eyes took on an even hungrier look. He murmured, "Ya know what they say, Darwin. All work and no play . . ."

Blair started to get a hot, heavy feeling in his lower belly. "Well, yeah, but the dinner--it's above and beyond. After all, you're paying me for my time."

Jim turned away suddenly, but not before Blair caught a pained look on his face. What was that about?

"Not for this time, buddy. Eating isn't clock time." Jim tried to smile, but there was still a shadow there. Blair mourned the loss of the hungry look.

After dinner, they moved from the table into the living area, with a glass of wine, which Jim had insisted on watering for Blair. "One, Darwin. I know exactly how old you are," Jim's mouth tightened for a moment, "and one glass, watered down, is all you're getting." He held up a hand and put on a grin. "No, don't beg, it's unmanly under these circumstances."

Jim didn't mention exactly under what circumstances it *was* manly to beg.

Blair was unrepentant, taking the glass and sitting on the leather chaise. Jim sat in the chair opposite, but seemed to be avoiding looking at him for some reason. Hmm. He cast around for something to comment on. He spied a sleek black cat coming through a small flap in the kitchen. "Oh, hey. You've got a cat! Here, kitty."

The cat, a large and glossy male with a thick coat and with unusual blue eyes came straight to Blair, butting his head against him and purring.

Jim said, "Yep. His name is Kitty." Blair made a small sound. "I know, I know--unimaginative. But he kind of adopted me when I first moved in and he was just a little scrawny thing."

"Oh, wow." Blair couldn't believe it. He picked up the big cat, which made itself right at home in his lap, purring loudly and kneading his jeans with just enough claw that Blair could feel it.

Jim was sitting across from him in a chair, but leaned forward with a look of concern now. "What is it, Chief? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Oh no, nothing like that. Not that I believe in ghosts. Or not. It's all cultural, you know, the belief systems regarding the dead . . . "

"Sandburg!"

"Oh, sorry. No, it's just that . . . " Blair looked down at the cat, troubled. "When I was a little kid, we uh . . . we moved around a lot, me and my mom. It was hard making friends sometimes, so I had imaginary friends. Lots of kids do." Blair looked up. "Mine were a wolf pup named Wolfie, and a black panther named Kitty. They were a constant in my childhood, and they were so real to me for a while. What a weird coincidence, huh?"

Blair looked at Jim to see what reaction his story had, but Jim's face was closed off, neutral. Shit. That was a bad sign. "Oh, I know it doesn't mean anything, it's just that--hey, I like your windchimes, are they from China?" Blair babbled nervously, unnerved by the non-reaction. "You know, you have a lot of art and decorative items here. It looks really great, but I would have thought you might go for a, spartan, more zen-like feel. Fewer irritants to your allergies."

Jim looked a bit relieved at the change in subject. He leaned back in his chair. "I tried that, at the beginning, but it made things worse. Not so much to hang on to, so I found myself focusing too much on one sense and zoning out, sometimes for hours at a time. That's when the absence seizures were their worst."

Zone outs! Blair gasped. He stood up, dislodging Kitty, and began to pace. "Oh my god, oh my god. I don't believe it." He swung around and pointed at Jim. "You're not disabled; your senses are ENHANCED! Aren't they? How many?"

Both men were tense and on their feet, now. Jim glared at him. "What's that got to do with anything? Yeah, they're enhanced, so what?"

Blair stabbed a finger in Jim's chest, and demanded. "How many?"

Jim slapped the finger away harshly, furious. "All five! Again, so what?"

Blair threw up his hands. "All five. Jesus Fucking Christ!"

Well, that explained the thunderbolt at least, Blair thought, his mind trying to process what this meant. A real, fucking, functional, urban Sentinel. Jesus Fucking Christ! Blair thought again, helplessly.

The two men stared at each other, chests heaving. Finally, Blair realized he was gaping, and said, "So what? So what, he says." He tore at his hair. "All my life I've been looking for my Sentinel. I find him through a fluke, and all he can say is, so what? Do you have any idea what you are? People like you, called watchmen or Sentinels, have a genetic advantage, to help the tribe succeed. You can warn of approaching danger or bad weather. I've met several tribal Sentinels, but even the most functioning of those only had four senses enhanced! Oh, man, I bet those senses were a fantastic help when you were a policeman! You're a throwback to pre-civilized man, man! The epitome of my field of study!"

Blair had been so busy with his soliloquy that he failed to notice the warning signs of violence emanating from the other man until his horizon changed dramatically. With a loud thunk, Blair found his back pressed against the fine hardwood wall, with an angry 200 lb. Sentinel pressed against his front. Jim slammed him against the wall again with a growl, spitting out, "Shut up! You think you know all about me? I spent years in hell trying to get a handle on this. You can't come waltzing into my home and just telling me all about Sentinels! I live it, and I'm not gonna let some neo-hippy witch doctor punk lecture me on it!"

Blair wasn't really scared. He wasn't. He knew instinctively that this man would never hurt him, even when two large fists pounded against the wall close to his head. But he was breathing hard, squirming against the body that held him against the wall. He felt a flush travel all the way down his body. He could feel the adrenaline sing, and he was hard, oh, so *hard*. Just like Jim.

Jim let out a deep groan as he ground his body against the younger man. "Christ, kid, what you do to me." Jim pulled himself away, and Blair felt his knees go weak, sliding him down the wall. "I oughta spank your cute behind."

"Well, don't stop on my account."

Jim glared at him from across the room. "You're off limits, Sandburg. Don't you understand? I'm more than 20 years older than you! You're too young and--and, you're my employee, for Christ's sake!"

Blair just smiled. Jim was so adorable, obviously expecting him to succumb to the hardass persona and play beta, but the older man had a lot to learn. Blair may be young, but he was sure about this. It was what he was born to do. Blair couldn't imagine a Sentinel living without his Guide all this time.

"So? I quit!"

"Aarrrrggh!" Jim paced in front of the window. He shook his head. "I can't do this. It would be sexual harassment. And you can't quit! I need you."

Blair smirked.

"At the store," Jim spat out through clenched teeth.

Blair laughed. "Jim, you can't fight it like this. I do know all about Sentinels. I've been preparing all my life. Don't you feel it? The signs are all there. The age difference doesn't matter at all." Blair bounced, his face as bright as a puppy's. "You're my Sentinel, I'm your G--"

"NO!" Jim shouted. He turned his face away. "You can't be. You're too young! I can't take that road with you. Just -- just get out. I can't deal with this right now."

With a shrug, Blair got up to leave. He knew it wasn't over between them by a long shot.

***

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***

Jim was relieved, as the days went by, that Sandburg hadn't actually quit. Not only did he not relish having to go through the whole interview process again, he was happy with the employee he had. Turned out the kid's knowledge of the biology of the senses, plus whatever gave him the in on the herbal remedies and the like, was a real benefit. Through their somewhat stilted (on Jim's part) conversations over the phone in the next couple of weeks, Sandburg had made numerous suggestions on additions or substitutions to the inventory, reorganized the website, and sent him bytes and bytes full of site content and marketing suggestions which Jim was still wading through. On top of that, Jim had received several emails from customers already, remarking on the excellent customer service Sandburg was providing.

Jim was therefore more than satisfied with the kid from a business point of view. On the personal side, however . . . whenever Sandburg would try to bring up the Sentinel thing, Jim would change the subject. After a few stabs at this, the kid started yammering at him about "fear-based responses" and other psychobabble bullshit, and Jim would just cut him cold. He didn't need to be psychoanalyzed by a 19 year old, for Christ's sake. But he was dismayed to realize he did need said 19 year old himself.

Over the next week or two, with the phone and email being Jim's only contact with the kid, (except for numerous text messages from Blair which Jim had little patience for) he found himself craving Sandburg's physical presence, fantasizing about him, seeking out his scent on the things he touched while he was in Jim's house. Stroking off over him. He was starting to develop a real obsession.

Jim was furious with himself for feeling that way, but pragmatic enough to acknowledge that it would be normal for a Sentinel to crave his Guide. He didn't know what to think about the age difference between them, how it made him feel turned on and dirty at the same time. Rationally, he knew he wasn't attracted to children, and that Blair was legal, but Blair was still very young. Just the faint whiff of the forbidden, and the memory of the taut young body against his, made him crazy with desire.

The whole thing was crazy, period. If this was heading where it looked like, it wouldn't be fair to the kid. The Guide thing was a life-long gig, after all, and they were almost of a different generation.

Avoiding the whole issue was his normal modus operandi, but eventually he broke down enough to make an overture.

"SenseSolutions, how may I help you?"

For a moment, Jim closed his eyes and just let the soothing tones wash over him. "Hey, Chief. How's it going?"

"Oh, hey, man! Great! We just got a huge order from an adult day care center in California!"

"Oh? That's good."

"Yeah, looks like that Google positioning I talked to you about is paying off!" Sandburg's enthusiasm for his business warmed him almost as much as hearing his voice.

"Did the face masks come in?"

"Yep. Yesterday afternoon."

"Oh. Good." Jesus, was he a conversationalist, or what? "Listen, Sandburg. Um--you doing anything tonight? I'd like to take you to dinner." Jim winced. Could that sound any more like a date? "To, uh, thank you, you know, for your hard work. I've already gotten some positive customer feedback about you."

"Oh, yeah? That's great, man!" Jim could hear Blair bouncing in his seat. "And yeah, I'd love to come to dinner with you." There was no mistaking the flirtatious tone.

"Don't get any ideas, kid. It's just dinner. How 'bout if I pick you up around, say, 6:30?"

"Sure. You know where I live, right?"

"I have your address, and I was a cop in Cascade for years. I think I can find it. Oh, and wear something decent--I'm taking you to Azafran," Jim added, naming Cascade's only 4 star restaurant.

"Azafran! Oh, man! I can't even afford to get a glass of water in there!" Blair laughed

"Cut it out, Chief. I'll see you tonight." Click.

There. That wasn't too date-y, was it? Oh, hell. Yes it was. Was it a crime to want to see his G -- his friend? Er . . . employee?

Dammit!

***

"So. Azafran, huh?" Blair asked. That's pretty fancy-schmancy."

"Well, the chef's a friend of mine. Kind of a story, there." Jim glanced over at his passenger as he expertly tooled his truck through Cascade traffic. After picking Sandburg up at his ramshackle house full of students and alt-rock, the two were headed out into the rainy night. Blair looked good, which was no surprise to Jim, but he had dressed up for the restaurant in nice brown cords and a beautiful teal satin dress shirt, which Jim was trying not to zone on. Blair made a little inquiring noise/bounce thing, and Jim cleared his throat.

"I, uh, got to know him after a little--incident--in his restaurant, and he's helped me out some with my sense of taste."

"Really? That's fascinating, Jim. How?" And there was no mistaking that Blair really was fascinated. Jim could get used to this attention, especially since everyone else, from his father to his friends, was freaked out to some degree by his senses rather than fascinated.

"In the very beginning, when my senses first started acting up, I took my ex-wife there to dinner. We -- "

Blair interrupted, "You were married?" He definitely sounded less fascinated now.

"Yes, Darwin, I was married. To a woman, in fact. Didn't take, though." Jim darted a glare toward his companion. "And who's telling this story, anyway?"

"Sorry, sorry!" Blair waved his hands around to indicate contriteness. "Go on, what happened?"

"I thought I was being poisoned. I took a bite--of something, I don't remember what, now, blackened fish or something, and my mouth was on fire. It was the strongest, nastiest tasting thing you could imagine. I made a big scene, too." He frowned, remembering. "That's when I was convinced I was going crazy. It took me a long time to figure out exactly what was happening. When I finally realized it was my senses going out of control, I went back and apologized." For a few minutes, Jim concentrated on finding a parking space. He continued the story as they got out of the truck and headed for the entrance of the restaurant, a fusion bistro in one of the trendier downtown areas of Cascade.

"Anyway, the chef, Jacques Mendoza, got interested when I told him that I was having trouble with food tastes. By then, it was a few months into this mess, and I was basically eating nothing but oatmeal. I'd lost weight, and I was pretty desperate. Jacques was nice enough to offer to help, and he did, in a big way. He taught me how to eat again, and I usually don't have too many problems with taste now."

He steered Blair into the restaurant with a hand on the small of the younger man's back. He tried not to relish the contact too much, but he was fighting a losing battle. Just seeing, and smelling Blair, after only communicating with him on the phone or by email for a while, well . . . a losing battle, yeah.

As he followed the student, his eyes got caught up on Blair's hair. Normally put up in a myriad of different twists, wraps, and tails, or covered with scarves, tonight he wore his hair down, spilling over his collar and down his back in a myriad of distinct, dark, Boticelli curls. Some even looked . . . green . . . as if they reflected the splendor of his shirt in the dim light, shining and swinging and bouncing . . .

"Jim? Jim! Come on, man, don't do this to me. Listen to me, feel my hand . . . "

Jim suddenly realized he was standing in the middle of the restaurant, while his friend ran his hand up and down his arm. Shit! Drawing a shaky breath, he said, "Yeah, yeah, Sandburg, I'm fine. Let's go." And waving off the concerned hostess, he headed for a secluded table near the kitchen. The staff was all very friendly, very professional, and very solicitous of Jim, knowing him well from his many visits. After getting them situated at the table, they faded away from the table as a short, dark, and neat man wearing chef's clothing came out of the swinging stainless steel doors to the kitchen, beaming broadly.

"Jim! How are you? You're looking good, Jimbabe!" He laughed. Despite his appearance and exotic name, Jacques Mendoza's speech was pure American.

Jim stood up to give the chef a hug. "You, too, Jacques. How's Peter?"

"Peter's great, thanks for asking. And who is this?" Chef Mendoza turned to the newcomer seated at the table, looking him up and down with an appreciative and speculative light in his eye.

"Jacques, meet Blair Sandburg. Blair's a student at the university, and he's helping me out with my business." Jim tried to keep his face and voice from softening with pleasure and pride, but from the sharp look Jacques gave him, he doubted he succeeded.

Blair bounced up, "Good to meet you, man! Jim was telling me how you helped him out with his sense of taste. I'd like to hear all about that, sometime. You didn't happen to take notes, did you?" Blair couldn't keep the eagerness out of his voice.

"Sandburg, that's enough!" Jim growled playfully. "Sorry, Jacques--he gets carried away sometimes."

The chef looked back and forth between the two men, observing their interaction and the expression on Jim's face. "Don't worry, Jim. Mr. Sandburg and I will get together later to compare notes, won't we?" He winked at Blair.

"Oh, man, that would be so cool! I'm so grateful to you for helping Jim out."

"It was no problem at all, believe me. Jim has the most amazing palate of anyone I've ever encountered. He can distinguish all the notes in a vintage wine, or taste the subtlest flavors in a complex dish. It's been a privilege to work with him, and a challenge to my art. Speaking of which, let me tell you what I've prepared for you tonight."

As soon as they were left alone with a beautifully presented platter of small, exquisite appetizers, Blair said, "Jim. You totally zoned. What was it?"

Not willing to admit what it was, Jim tried pouting. "What does it matter? I'm fine, Sandburg, calm down."

But Blair wasn't having it. He leaned in closer over the table and brought his voice down. "Come on, Jim. This is what I do. This is what I'm here for, don't you understand? Now, what was it?" This last came out in a peculiarly compelling voice.

"Your hair." Jim reached over and grabbed a tendril. "How do you get it like this?" All those perfect curls.

"No shampoo." Blair smiled smugly and waggled his eyebrows.

"What?" Jim looked at him in shock. "You don't wash your hair?"

"Sure I do. I just don't use shampoo. I use conditioner. And I don't comb it at all--I use my fingers." Blair's hands did a fluttery, phantom combing dance.

Well, the effect certainly was . . . unique. Jim supposed that was a step up from "bizarre." He contemplated his beautiful dinner companion. The shiny surface of the rich peacock colored shirt perfectly framed a V of chest hair, and he could easily see the outline of the nipples, with their barbells shaped just like little free weights. He imagined what it felt like to have silk rub against pierced nipples, and shivered.

He stopped fingering the curl and sat back. "And what did you do to it? It's green!"

Blair shrugged. "It's temporary, and it matches my outfit. Don't you like it?" A coy look.

Jesus, Jim thought. This kid is lethal. "Like it? I --" Jim stopped, not wanting to explain. "It caught the light. It reflected your shirt and I . . ."

"Zoned. Yeah, I got it." Blair nodded.

"It doesn't happen much. Anymore."

Blair made a little negatory wiggle. "Fifi should be here."

"She's at the loft. I don't need Fifi tonight. Not when --" Mumble, mumble. Jim suddenly appeared to be very interested in his wine.

Blair's grin was mischievous. "What was that, Jim?"

"Not when you're here, all right? Jesus, what do you want from me?" Jim tried a glare, but somehow . . .

"Hey, hey! No worries, mate!" Blair held out his hands. "But see what I mean? That's what I'm here for."

Jim was very much afraid the kid was exactly right.

***

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***

Blair watched with undisguised attention and interest as Jim chatted with the chef and sampled the dishes. Jim allowed himself to relax and savor the flavors of each dish. All the flavors tonight were cleaner, sharper, no doubt due to Blair's presence. Chef Mendoza explained how he and Jim had set up a series of taste tests, starting with very simple, fresh and well prepared food, carefully seasoned with one or two notes. As Jim built up his repertoire of taste comparisons, they had been able to determine a few of the triggers for adverse reactions. And that he was definitely allergic to shellfish.

Jim couldn't get over the admiring light in Sandburg's eyes, and he couldn't help respond to it. As he related a funny story about the shellfish testing, he couldn't help thinking, this? This short, funny, smart, gorgeous, young man is my Guide? He could be . . . mine? Jim tasted the thought, as he tasted his fresh heirloom tomato salad. He wished he could taste Blair instead. He licked his lips.

"Sandburg, do you mind telling me some things? Like how the fuck," Jim looked around the room and lowered his voice, "do you know about Sentinels, anyway? What's your shtick?"

Blair had been staring at his lips, but at this, he laughed, "My shtick? Nothing, Jim. Nothing but you." He sat back and regarded Jim with serious eyes. "You want to know what my deal is?"

 

Jim nodded. Yes, he certainly did.

Blair pursed his lips, considering how to start. "You have to understand that I traveled a lot with my mother when I was small. We traveled all over the world, and my mom home schooled me."

"I wondered at all the languages on your resume."

"I was born in India, and actually lived there for my first 4 years."

"Ah." Jim took a sip of water, and sat back as a server approached to remove the dishes. That explained the Hindi. "And what does your mom do that she could take you around the world?"

"Well . . . how to describe Naomi? She's in a class by herself, Jim." Blair shook his head ruefully. "My mother was a teenager when she got pregnant with me. According to her, my dad was a dickhead who didn't want anything to do with raising a baby, and who compounded his sin by getting himself messily killed in a car accident a few months later. Mom also didn't get along with her father, and when he wanted her to give me up, she left the house, taking me, willy-nilly, to India, where she lived in a commune and studied yoga."

"I didn't think were any communes left, Sandburg."

"Trust me, if there are, Naomi can find them."

"The Sentinel thing, Blair." Jim redirected him firmly, but looked at him with amusement.

"Oh! Right, right, I'm getting to that. See, after India, we moved to back to the States, and we moved around and my mom taught yoga and meditation. I met this family of hereditary shamans in Arizona and lived with them for a time. My mom tended to uh . . . wander off and leave me places sometimes."

Jim was shocked again. "That's horrible, Sandburg!"

But Blair just said, "Sometimes, yeah, but sometimes it was wonderful. I've always been interested in other cultures, how people lived, so I was grateful that I could hang out with other types of people, you know? Anyway, the elder of this family that I told you about, told me when I was a just a little kid that I had a great destiny."

Blair laughed. "I suppose it's silly now, but to a little kid, you know? He gave me this pendant." Blair fished out the silver wolf from the various necklaces and held it out. It was the one Jim had noticed before. "I've seen the wolf since then in my dreams. I think it's my spirit animal. The elder told me I was born to be a shaman and watchman's companion." Blair gave Jim a significant look.

"And my mom, well--she's a searcher for knowledge, you know? I was raised pagan, and my mom's always going on retreats or seminars on spirituality or holistic treatment. So I've had the opportunity to talk with a lot of spiritual advisors. And Naomi's not so bad--she's been doing real great for the last few years, because she's got a job with an international hotel chain as a "Wellness Coordinator" or something. She oversees spas and fitness stuff. She's living in Bali and making good money--how perfect is that?"

He looked at Jim searchingly. "There's a whole spiritual component to this thing you know. I've been studying to be a shaman. I've studied herbalism, myths, rituals, and native healing practices. Everywhere I go in the world, I've looked for teachers and searched out stories of watchmen and guardians--Sentinels. I'm even going back to Arizona next summer for further training. I have a grant, and I'll get at least one good paper out of it, too."

Feeling unaccountably angry, Jim demanded, "Is that what this is about then?"

"This?"

"Studying me will be the feather in your cap, is that it? Am I just a specimen to you?"

"No!" Blair hissed. "Studying you isn't my greatest ambition." Blair stared challengingly and meaningfully at Jim. "You are. Truthfully, I never thought I'd find a real urban Sentinel for me to be companion to, even though I hoped to. Tribal Sentinels, yes, I've already met at least three who are functioning as such. But you!" Shaking his head again so his curls rattled around his face, "You are only in my wildest dreams." His voice was very soft now.

Jim continued to doubt. This kid . . . He considered his table companion. Well, yes, it was clear Blair was a man. A young man, but still-- even with his chest hair, heavy beard, and deep voice, Blair hovered in that indefinable border between child and man. Jim felt another frisson of lust run through him. Strong jaw, freshly shaven for the "date," (and who was Jim kidding, anyhow, putting those quotes in his mind) large, clear blue eyes in a tanned face. Looking into those eyes, Jim started to believe, against all the evidence, against all the obstacles. For the eyes held a depth of wisdom and experience impossible in one so young.

Pulling his eyes away, Jim concentrated on his sense of smell, searching for the scent of the next dish being prepared for him, to prevent himself from zoning. He refused to consider that focusing on Blair's heartbeat would be a better choice.

"Look." Blair drummed his fingers on the table. "My ultimate goal as far as academics is a doctorate in anthropology. And yes, I think I have a viable topic in Sentinels. But I don't need data from you!" Blair looked scandalized at the thought. "That would be a breach of ethics. No, I can do my dissertation on the myth and tribal history of the Sentinel. Anthropologists do deal in folklore, you know. And I have several leads to original research."

"So, how long before you achieve this vaunted goal, Darwin? Or, maybe I should say, Margaret Mead?" He couldn't help himself, and reached out to pull a curl again, fascinated by its spring.

Blair sighed. "Several years out, I'm sorry to say. I'm trying to stretch my original four year scholarship, which is why I'm going for a double major, in biology and anthropology, but I'll get my bachelor's next year. I'm going for a straight shot to my Master's degree, and I've got a head start on that. But to get my Ph.D., I'm looking at a change of university, and at least two long field studies. So I figure about five to seven more years of school. Maybe longer."

Blair looked at Jim, acutely aware that this meant they would have to separate, and already feeling the pang. After a moment, he brightened. "And hey! I also have a rare primary source on which to base part of my studies, a book, by Sir Richard Burton. The explorer, not the—"

"Not the actor, right, Chief." Jim threw down his napkin in disgust. "Christ! Do you know how long I've been looking for that book? And you have one?"

"Yep." Blair was smug. "I found it in a bazaar in Marrakesh when I was eleven years old."

Jim just shook his head in amazement. "I can't believe it. I tried for years to get my hands on a copy, and was so close a couple of times. Can I see it?"

"Sure thing, Jim. Any time you want." Blair smiled broadly at him. "Don't you see, Jim? We were meant to meet. When I'm with you, I feel—I dunno, like it's right. Like something I've waited for so long has finally fallen into place. It's almost like—déjà vu. Hey, you know, maybe we were together as--" Blair broke off for a minute, glancing around the restaurant, and lowered his voice, "—as Sentinel and Guide in a past life. Well, it's possible, isn't it?"

Jim hated this spiritual crap and just made a vague sound. Blue puppy dog eyes flashed at his, but the kid was serious, Jim could tell.

Later, after Jim nearly swooned through the strawberry and custard confection that was dessert, and they both had coffee, Jim excused himself to go talk with his friend and settle the bill. In the kitchen, Jim said, "Thanks, Jacques. It was great, as usual."

Jacques looked through the door to the dining room. "You're welcome. And your young man, I hope he is properly appreciative." Though the words were teasing, the tone was approving.

Jim grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. "He's -- a friend. But too young, don't you think? I'm no chickenhawk." Jim could feel his face heating up with the discussion, but he trusted his friend's opinion.

Jacques laughed and slung an arm around his neck. "Anyone would envy you, my friend. I'm glad you found someone to make you happy. And besides, I think it's already too late."

Grunting reluctant assent, Jim took his leave and escorted his date back to the truck.

***

Blair stayed ahead of Jim on the way back to the parking lot by dint of skipping backwards, talking and gesturing all the while. When they got to the truck, he leaned back against the door, and said, "So, Jim. Wanna make out in the truck?"

"Jesus, Sandburg!" Jim gave him a disbelieving look. "You ever hear of subtlety? Seduction?" Jim unlocked the door and gave a none-too gentle push to his companion. "Get in the truck, Romeo."

"What?" Blair asked, as Jim got in and started to drive. "You don't like my technique?"

"Technique? What kind of a technique is that?" Jim mimicked him, "Do you wanna make out?"

"Hey, it's called communication. You should try it sometimes; avoids misunderstandings. That other stuff is for girls. Also? I noticed you haven't answered me. Good distraction job, there." Blair angled his back against the truck door, focusing on the older man. "But, you know, I can take a hint."

"With a shovel," Jim muttered, *sotto voce*.

"What was that? Nevermind! Now, where was I?" he asked rhetorically. Blair was hyped. He bounced in his seat and was clearly set on a long harangue. "Oh, yeah! My lousy technique." Blair slanted a sidelong look at the other man. "I suggest you save your judgment for later. But you wanna talk serious? Okay."

He turned toward Jim, and said earnestly, "What helps the most? I mean, I can't tell you how proud I am of you, figuring out how to deal with all of this stuff with your senses without a Guide. I wish I had been there to help you. But, out of all the things you've tried, what helps the most?"

Jim was stopped at a stoplight, and looked over at Blair. "I wish you had been there, too, Chief." After a long pause, Jim continued. "I don't know--I guess just accepting it. I mean, at first, at the very beginning, I thought I was going crazy. Just fucking nuts, you know, and the doctors weren't helping. Lots of tests, hospital smells, nothing helpful at all."

He drove on, thoughtfully. "It really helped once I figured out that it was just my senses that were going, not my mind. I, uh, repressed some memories, too, from my time in Peru, that were traumatic, and once I remembered them, things got better. There was a Shaman there who helped me."

"Wow! That is so cool! You have to tell me everything, okay?"

He looked at Blair again, admiring him in the lights of the night. "Okay, but not tonight, okay?" He sighed. "Once I stopped fighting so hard, and embraced some of the alternative therapies out there, despite my personal distaste," he said dryly, "I calmed down and got a lot better."

"Well, you could take a hint from that and stop fighting *me* so hard. I'm here now, and I can help you," Blair said firmly, sliding over a bit.

The truck pulled up a short distance from Blair's house. Jim turned the key, and the truck subsided into faint pings and ticking. "You're already helping, Chief. Just being around you--" Jim blew out a breath. "I don't know, things are clearer somehow, the senses easier to control. I could let myself go a bit with the food. I felt you wouldn't let anything happen."

Frowning, Blair said, "But you zoned."

"Well, yeah, but that was just . . ."

Blair arched an eyebrow. "Just . . . ?"

"Just you." Reluctantly. Not looking at him.

"Can't resist me, eh?" Blair smiled, and tried again. "So . . . you wanna make out?"

Jim barked a laugh, startled. But he couldn't utter a refusal, because, well, he did. "Do you?"

Blair made a little voila gesture down his torso, drawing his Sentinel's eye unerringly. "Jim. I'm a guy. Does the word 'duh' mean anything to you?"

"In that case, there's something I've been wanting to do all night." And Jim unbelted his seatbelt and turned, placing a hand four-square on Sandburg's chest. "Don't move." Very delicately, careful to keep his torso off the other man's, Jim leaned over, and took a long, luxuriant sniff. Then another, and another, until he was burrowed beneath Blair's hair on his neck, breathing in and out, his mouth open, smelling and tasting the man. Blair gasped, and tried to twist his body up and up, but he was held fast by Jim, whose other hand was beginning a careful exploration.

"So, you wanna make out in the truck, do ya, Chief? Where anyone can see?" Jim's voice was low, growly.

"Yeah, yeah, oh, god. Kind of a kink of mine, ya know? My first time was in the back of an old Cadillac. Acres and acres of black leather seats. Always liked it." Blair was panting with Jim's ministrations. "I hope I smell good. Do I, Jim? Do I?"

"You smell fantastic. Like nobody, ever." Jim seemed almost zoned on Blair's sight and smell.

"The Jeep has --" Blair gasped again as Jim ran his hands over Blair's arms, and dived in for the mouth he wanted to taste so badly. Kissing Blair properly, Jim slid his mouth over Blair's, quickly deepening the kiss to a strong, no-holds-barred exploration. "--has leather seats. Special edition."

This time Jim did growl, unmistakably, slanting his large, hard body fully against the smaller man's, driving against him at the thought of Blair bouncing against leather seats in rut. He was going to have to get the kid into some leather *real fucking soon.*

After kissing sloppily for a little while longer, Jim pulled back and rolled down the window a crack, as the air in the cab became steamy with their panting. Jim made a rueful noise, even as he savored the taste of the younger man in his mouth and the combined smell of their arousal. "We're crazy to do this, Sandburg. Don't you see that? It's just totally inappropriate. And making out in public like this--what if we get caught?"

Blair smirked. "What, are you worried about your parents finding out? Chill, man."

"I'm serious, Blair. I'm too old for this shit."

Blair scrambled over him, using his hands to explore Jim's head, running his fingers over the short buzz cut delightedly. "Oh, man, I've been wanting to do that. And you are not too old!"

"Yeah, well, maybe you're too young. But I've been wanting to do--this," said Jim, unbuttoning the buttons of Blair's teal shirt. He ran his fingers over the whorls of chest hair, gazing at the shine of the pierced nipples, but deliberately avoiding them. "I like this shirt a lot. I can see the piercings outlined against it. It's fucking hot," he husked. "You're a pretty hairy guy, Chief" he commented.

"Yeah, but not as bad as some others. No back hair!"

"Yet. Wait 'till you get old. You get hair in strange places, and no hair in others."

They grinned at each other. Blair was just starting to slide closer to Jim, his hand making its way up Jim's muscled thigh, when Jim stiffened. Tilting his head, he appeared to listen for a moment, then swiveled his head toward the street just as a police cruiser slowly ambled by. Jim stuck out his hand and waved, but the car was heading for a parking space down the street, close to Blair's front door. "Shit, Chief. They've recognized my truck. Now do you see what I mean? Do I get to say, I told you so?"

"Well at least it wasn't your mother with the flashlight."

They looked at each other and started to crack up. Maybe it wasn't that funny, but if they couldn't release one tension, maybe they could release another.

"I'm sorry, Blair. I'm so tempted to invite you up to the loft for a nightcap."

"That sounds like a fantastic idea."

"But I'm not going to. It's our first date. I'm not that kind of boy." Jim grinned.

"Oh, right. Like I believe that," Blair scoffed, disappointed.

"Seriously, Chief. As a former police captain, the beat cops all know me. They'll want to make sure I'm okay, so I'll have to go talk to these guys. Besides--don't you have midterms next week?"

Big sigh. "Yeah. And a paper due which I am so behind on."

"How can you study in there, anyway?" Jim wanted to know, nodding down the street to the house, where even normal ears could hear music and voices.

Blair shrugged. "Oh well, I dunno. I'm used to it. And I go to the library a lot."

"Why don't you come over tomorrow? I'm make lunch and you can study in peace and quiet." And he'll be in my house, Jim thought.

"Sounds like a plan." Blair pulled away from Jim reluctantly. "Uh . . ." Blair seemed at a loss for words as he climbed out of the truck. Finally, with a nervous glance at the cop car still parked, he said, "I had a really good time."

"Me too, Chief."

"Are you going to be okay to drive back to the loft, without Fifi?"

"I'll be fine."

"You better be."

"I'll ask the patrol car to follow me, 'kay?"

"Okay." Blair stuck his finger through the truck window, and shook it, putting on a no-nonsense face. "But expect you and me to have a long talk about your senses, Jim. I mean it. Soon. I want to know everything."

Jim groaned, knowing he was in for a hard time.

A very long, hard, time if he was lucky.

He drove off with a smile.

***

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***

Swimming reluctantly to consciousness, Blair tried to hang on to the dream. Was there a jungle? A wolf? He fumbled his cell phone open and groped for his glasses, trying to peer at the time. "Wha?"

"Sandburg, look, I'm sorry, but I've got an emergency; a search for some missing children in California."

Blair lurched upright, his hands now falling unerringly on his glasses, and his wits alive. "What time is it?"

"O Five-Hundred," came Jim's voice, his tone brisk.

Okay that was weird. How can he be so fucking chipper at fucking five o'clock in the morning? Fuck! "I can be ready in fifteen minutes."

"Whoa, Kemosabe. What are you talking about? You can't come. It's a missing family in the mountains down there."

"Jim! What do you think I'm supposed to do? A Sentinel needs his Guide in the field--that's the whole point."

"Blair, listen to me," Jim said patiently, but urgently. "I need you to take care of Daisy and my place for me, got it? This is why I hired you."

"But Jim . . ."

"No, Chief. I don't have time for this now. We'll discuss it when I get back. My friend Simon Banks will be coming by the warehouse this evening around five or six to give you my keys. My security code is 8-e-n-s-e. Got it?" He waited until Blair had written down the code, and then said, "Look. It might be over before I get there, or it might take several days. I never know."

"I understand, and I'll take care of things on this end. But you better take care of yourself, or I'll put you in the doghouse with Fifi and Daisy!"

"Don't worry, Blair. I've got Fifi with me and we know what to do. I'll try to call, but phone reception isn't reliable up in the mountains."

"Okay," said Blair glumly as he flopped back down into bed. After saying their goodbyes, Blair turned over. With nowhere to go, he let his body drift back toward sleep.

***

Just after five o'clock that afternoon, Blair was in the warehouse, working on the company's website. He wanted to add a forum, so that people who had questions about the products, or who were having problems with their senses, could connect. Maybe, he thought, there were some potential Sentinels out there who needed help.

As Blair was musing about the miracle of the Internet and the best way to connect with possible Sentinels, he heard a car door shut emphatically outside the office, followed shortly by an emphatic banging on the door. Jim's friend was evidently an emphatic guy, and when he opened the door, he could see why. Simon Banks was a very tall, formidable-looking black man with a disgruntled expression on his face. Oh, boy, Blair thought.

"You Sandburg?"

"Uh, yes sir. Are you Banks?" Blair thought he was being cute, but evidently "cute" wasn't on this guy's radar, if the ferocious scowl on his face was any indication.

"That's right. Simon Banks." He unbent enough to extend his hand to the younger man as he stepped inside the office. "Let's see some ID, kid." Rolling his eyes where Banks couldn't see him, Blair dug out his wallet and flashed his driver's license. Simon merely grunted. "Look, I'm in a bit of a hurry, but Jim asked me to give you the keys to his place." He unscrewed a key chain extension from a large ring and handed the keys to Blair. "You know what to do?"

"Oh, sure. I'll take care of the place, and Daisy, no problem. Uh, do you think Jim will be all right?"

Simon looked surprised. "Sure, why wouldn't he be? He's the best there is at this."

Blair sighed. "I know. I'm just worried, that's all. Jim couldn't tell me when he'd be back."

"Well, I can tell you that the kids haven't been found yet. You know there are two kids, missing, right? Two sisters, aged 7 and 4, who got separated from their parents. Jim and Fifi will find them, you'll see."

Blair could see that here was another who cared about Jim, and he was glad of it. Jim seemed like such a loner, without too much of a support system, and Blair knew how important that could be. Of course, now Jim had him. Well, "had" being a relative term. Strictly speaking, Jim hadn't "had" Blair, yet, but . . . What?

"I'm sorry, sir. You were saying?" Blair tried out his most charming smile. "I got distracted."

Simon didn't appear to be affected by his charm, because his stern brown eyes were looking at Blair's piercings distastefully." Just don't get distracted from what you're supposed to be doing. Look, just promise me to be straight with Jim, and we'll have no problem."

Be straight with Jim? Uh . . .

"Well, I don't know that I can, in good conscience, promise to be 'straight' with Jim," Blair lowered his eyes, amused, "but I can promise to take good care of him. Will that do?" He smiled, and looked directly into the big man's eyes, trying to convey nothing but sincerity. Okay, and a bit of salaciousness, but that was there anyway, since they *were* talking about Jim.

Simon looked a bit nonplused at the blatant innuendo, but he only said, "Hmmph. See that you do," and turned on his heels to leave.

***

Once in his car, Simon uncapped a new cigar, cut off the end, and lit up as he started away from the warehouse. He was troubled, and he wasn't sure why, other than general worry for his friend. He couldn't imagine that grungy kid was Jim's type, for all his flirtatiousness, but he was still concerned. The student seemed decent enough, if you could overlook the ugly piercings, but Jim was good looking, well-to-do--and vulnerable.

Jim had had such a rough time since his condition surfaced, and Simon didn't want anyone taking advantage of him. Jim had been in so much pain in the beginning, as he lost the ability to perform a job he was good at. Eventually he had lost the ability to work at all. Until now, with this cockamamie business scheme.

Simon was deeply skeptical about all this Sentinel stuff, too. It sounded like a bunch of bullshit hooey to him, but Jim was convinced. He remembered one of the early conversations about it when Jim had dragged him to an obscure bookshop in the International District to look for a rare book on Sentinels.

***

"There's something else, Simon," said Jim, as he led the way into dusty bookstore. He held a handkerchief over his nose to try to mitigate the effect of the dust.

Simon gave the overburdened shelves a wary once over--they looked like they could pitch over on customers at any time.

Jim continued: "Sentinels need a special companion, a Guide, chosen just for them, to function fully. At least that's what Incacha told me."

"Incacha was the shaman in Peru, right?" Simon had a hard time keeping all this shit straight.

"Right. I can't believe I didn't remember him before, but after those hypnosis sessions I had—I told you about that, right? I remembered him telling me about my Guide. Guides are often shamans, a kind of mystic teacher to Sentinels. They help ground and focus the Sentinel, enabling him to use his senses fully. If I had a Guide, I wouldn't be having those zone-outs all the time."

Standing in the dim light of the store, waiting to talk to the clerk, Simon could see that the memories were painful, even for his stoic friend. Nevertheless, Simon let his impatience with the subject come out in his tone. "And, so? What about your Guide?"

Jim shrugged. "Only that I would find him when I least expected, and to look for the wolf."

"Well, what the hell does that mean?"

Jim shot an exasperated look at him. "It means what it means, Simon. It's shaman-speak. You know, riddles." He looked off into the distance. "I just wish—it's like I'm missing some part of me, some part of myself."

"And this book we're looking for can help you find this person? Are you even sure it's a man?" Simon cast his eyes around the shop doubtfully.

"I'm not sure about anything, Simon. Why have I had to wait so long? Maybe I missed him! Maybe he died!" Jim's jaw tightened painfully at that thought, but he turned to step up to the register.

As he watched Jim interrogate the clerk, Simon privately thought his friend needed to get a grip. Or at least a dog. Although he knew Jim could take care of himself, he didn't want the other man latching on to some con artist in desperation for this "destined Guide." He would just have to keep an eye on him.

***

Now Simon made a face as he remembered that conversation and the uneasy feelings it engendered. He remembered the look in Sandburg's eye as he was talking about Jim. And more damning still, the tone in Jim's voice when he talked about the kid.

What was it about that kid? He was just some college student helping Jim out with this crazy Internet store scheme. Wasn't he?

***

The search and rescue had been brutal. Bad weather, bad terrain, and worst of all, one child dead. Jim and Fifi had struggled through the snow with the other searchers, trying to find some sign, but the bad weather made smell unreliable and tracking useless. Finally, Jim heard a child's heartbeat. Just one, and very faint, and he followed it to where the two sisters had spent three nights and two days on the side of a slope. The older sister had curled around the toddler, protecting her from the worst of the elements, but gave her life doing so. The younger sibling was being treated for hypothermia, and it looked good for her, but the stress of the rescue still weighed heavily on man and dog. Why hadn't they been called in sooner?

Jim tiredly rubbed his face as he navigated his truck through the rainy night. Fifi was curled up next to him on the seat, dozing. Jim knew she was as distressed as he was, in her own way. All he wanted now was to curl up in his own bed in his beautiful house, and to sleep himself out, and not think of frozen children. He wondered if Sandburg would be there, then decided it didn't matter, anyway. It was nearly 3 am, so even if he decided to stay out at Kee Creek instead of his room at the house, Sandburg would be sacked out.

As he pulled close to his property, Jim noted with satisfaction that the gate was shut and that Sandburg's vehicle was parked. He heard a soft "yip" from Daisy as she greeted them. By now, Jim was so tired he was practically stumbling, but he made sure to take care of his dog before he did anything else. The Sentinel took his time and got Fifi situated, his luggage unloaded from his truck, and the house was secure, before he allowed himself to focus on what he'd been sensing since he walked in the door.

Sandburg was there, all right. And he was asleep all right--in Jim's bed. He had himself his own little Goldilocks. The thought struck him funny (the little shit probably tried all three beds in the house before he found one to his liking) and, in his exhaustion, nearly collapsed with a fit of giggles. Leaning against the wall on the stair landing, he tried to collect his thoughts as he tried to calm his breathing.

Shit. Was he supposed to wake the kid up and kick him out of bed? All Jim wanted to do was sleep. But somehow, even though his conscience was trying to tell him something important, the thought of Blair up there, in his bed, just seemed right. And it continued to seem right all the way up the stairs to his eagle's nest bedroom.

Sure enough, Sandburg was sacked out. Way over on the far side of the bed, with the comforter pulled up and a pillow over his head. With a too-large furry black shape snugged against his sleeping body, guarding him.

Sometimes, when Jim was very tired, or very peaceful, or taken unawares and seeing out of the corner of his eyes, Kitty looked . . . . different. Bigger. Deadlier.

Jim remembered more from Peru than he had told the hypnotist. He sighed as he realized he was going to have to get into that with Blair sooner rather than later. Jim blinked and Kitty was back to being an ordinary house cat.

Jim automatically processed what his senses were telling him. His Guide was asleep, warm, and he smelled . . . Really fucking amazing. The smell of him, the sight of him---

Almost swaying toward the bed asleep on his feet, Jim nevertheless forced himself to head to the bathroom and perform his nightly routine. Along the way, his told his conscience to fuck off, and when he returned to the bedroom, homed on to his bed and its occupant like he was peanut butter and Blair was toast. Scooting over toward Blair, he fitted his body against the smaller man's heat, and spiraled toward sleep, sure that any bad dreams would be warded away by the cherished man in his arms.

In the darkness, the black cat slunk away from the cozy bed, well satisfied.

***

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***

When Jim woke up, he was simultaneously aware of two things: His hard dick and his Guide.

His Guide was in the shower. His Guide had left his--their!--bed without his permission, leaving only a lingering earthy scent. Jim could hear him in the shower; hear how the water parted around him. He was up out of bed and headed toward the bathroom without conscious thought.

Blair was standing in the stream of the rainfall showerhead, arching his back slightly and letting the water cascade down his head, streaming off his soaked curls, down his back. Jim just stood for a moment, enjoying the first completely unobstructed view of his mate. Blair was fit, no doubt about it, with a compact, toned, young body. But Blair was turned away slightly from him, and he decided he needed to get a closer look. Opening the door to the shower, he stepped in, letting the curls of spray and steam tickle his skin and caress his swollen cock.

Blair's blue eyes opened, looking straight into his heart for one timeless moment. Nevertheless, Blair affected a start. "Jim! I didn't want to wake you. I hope you don't mind that I slept in your bed. I was just worried, and I missed you, and --"

But Jim wasn't paying attention to the words--he was more focused on other things. Like his hands, reaching out to turn Sandburg around toward him, and close. Like the scent of Blair rising to meet him, warmed by the shower and spiced with water. Like the sight of the barbells winking at him from pebbled nipples. To forestall further chatter and a possible zone, Jim homed in on the full lips with his mouth, and soon there were only gasps and sighs.

"Jim?"

"Shussh, Chief. It's all right. You left, that's all. You left our bed." Jim's hands roamed Blair's torso, and he began to lick the water streaming off Blair's neck, treating his sense of taste. The trauma of the day before faded into dim memory in the presence of this most important moment.

"I've got you now, Chief." Jim raised his head and looked straight into the other man's eyes. "You came to my bed. If you think I'm ever letting you out of it again, you're mistaken." And he followed this statement with a crushing embrace, pushing Blair against the tiles and writhing against him, letting his whole body claim the smaller man. Blair was starting to make little grunts in time with their movements when Jim pulled back. Jim folded his long body into a kneeling position on the floor of the shower. He looked up at Blair standing in the stream of the water, and said, "I want to look at you, Blair."

The younger man's eyes were dark, his pupils blown with arousal, his chest heaving. He ran his hand down the center of his chest to his abdomen, playing with the large ring set in his navel. "Jim, you can do anything you want," he said breathlessly.

Jim was entranced. He already knew certain things about Blair's body, of course -- Sentinel touch and sight informed. But this was something different, and he honed in to the one thing he most wanted to see. Blair obliged him, by moving his hand lower, down to the straining erection, pulling on it, moaning a little as he started to fondle himself.

Jim couldn't help it. He felt his jaw drop as he finally got a good look at Blair's groin. Blair's cock was strong and sturdy, of average length but with a beautiful fat mushroom head, and a wide shaft thickening at the base. As pretty as his penis was, Jim's eye was distracted. He couldn't decide which was more exotic--the fact that Blair obviously trimmed his pubes to a close-cropped area around his dick, or the line of thick rings piercing his scrotum, and marching down his smooth, tight, ballsack.

Jim scooted closer on his knees, fascinated. He reached out a finger to flick the rings. There were five of them, all perfectly spaced and centered down a line from the base of Blair's cock to back between his legs. "What's with the piercings, Blair?"

"Don't get me started! We have better things to do right now than a lecture about the significance of piercings in modern culture." Blair laughed, breathlessly, his fingers stroking slowly up and down, up and down.

Jim fought against zoning on the erotic sight. He said, "I've seen piercings before, you know. But most guys I've seen have a piercing through the head of their dick, not down . . ." Jim made a vague gesture indicating Blair's balls.

"Yeah, a Prince Albert or an apadravya. I used to have an ampallang, but I took it out."

"What's an ampa --?"

"Ampallang. It's a piercing going horizontally through the head of the penis. Kind of unusual, but mine never healed right, and besides--" Blair grinned, and fondled the head of his cock provocatively, shaking it in front of his Sentinel's curious face, "--partners complained, especially about oral. That it was tough on their mouths. So I took it out."

Blair gave a wiggle of his ass guaranteed to further mesmerize his partner. His voice went lower, huskier. "It's not a problem anymore, see? All smooth and sweet, and hard. For you."

Jim didn't need the verbal cues. In fact, he no longer needed anything but the taste and feel of Blair's cock under his tongue. He'd given head to quite a few men over the years, but this was different. This was Blair. His Guide. In his home. In his shower. His thoughts threatened to devolve into mere primitive possession as he started to lick and suck. The smell of Blair was intoxicating, the taste was Nirvana. But he wanted Blair back on a dry, level surface, so he pulled out all the stops. He got his hands on that beautiful butt and *inhaled* Blair's cock, relaxing his throat as much as he could. Blair went wild, and Jim encouraged Blair to fuck his mouth, sucking the come right out of him.

It was beautiful, it was powerful, it was short, and it was just the beginning. Jim had plans for his Guide that involved a dry, horizontal surface. Ignoring his own arousal for the time being, he propped Blair's sagging post-orgasmic knees against the wall with his body, and reached for the shower gel. "Have I ever told you how I picked out my favorite bath line for the store?"

***

Very shortly thereafter, Jim again gazed upon Blair--his Guide--lying invitingly on his big bed in the sunlight streaming from the window. His cock throbbed insistently, but he took the time to indulge his senses, from the smell of freshly washed male, delicately scented with almond and coconut, to the sound of the rustles and sighs as the younger man squirmed slightly against the sheets. He didn't know if he could ever get enough of the sight of the young man in his bed--it gave him an atavistic thrill. He imagined Blair collared and cuffed to the bed someday, at his sensual mercy, and smiled predatorily. He flexed his hands, feeling almost as if he could feel claws emerging. He enjoyed Blair's gasp at his expression, and just stood there for another moment, ignoring the insistent clamor of his hard-on to just get on with it already!

But Blair was not afraid, and he had weapons of his own. Squirming more overtly, Blair started to talk, his voice immediately capturing his Sentinel. "Jim? Can you feel it? Do you *sense* it?" Blair was beginning to pant, his anticipation, despite the earlier orgasm, nearly overwhelming him. He ran a finger delicately over his pierced nipples, causing Jim to groan at the eroticism. He was developing a real kink about the piercings. "Be careful of the nipples, Jim," he whispered. "They're still healing, so nothing rough, okay?" Blair's eyes dropped to Jim's eager cock, standing straight and proud up against his belly.

Jim knelt at the base of his bed, following the trail of Blair's sturdy hand. Blair fondled his balls, making the rings jingle alluringly. Then he spread his legs and pulled a pillow under himself, exposing his hole, carefully cleaned by Jim only moments earlier. With a fingertip, he stroked it, making a whining sound high in his throat. "I've waited for you. All for you, Jim. Please, Jim!"

The sight of Blair fondling his asshole and begging was too much. Jim launched himself on top of the other man, intent on taking what belonged to him. Frantically kissing and groping, they rubbed against each other with no more teasing, only desperate need.

Blair finally grabbed Jim's head in his hands, and said, "In me. Come on!" He closed his eyes and thrust his pelvis against Jim. "Fuck me. I'm ready--I've been preparing myself for you, so just get in there! Now Jim!"

Jim groaned. The kid was going to kill him. Or he was going to die before he got his dick in there, whichever. He got lube out of the nightstand drawer, and hastily squirted it on his cock and in the area of Blair's pretty pink hole. He dropped the bottle and used his fingers to spread it around.

Oh! Blair was so hot, so hot. He looked up. "No condom, Chief. You okay with that?"

Blair was as serene as he could be while waiting to be claimed. "No--oh! No condom." He returned the look. "I'm clean, and this is forever, man. You understand! Do it!"

And he did. In, in, so sweet, so tight. He pressed in further, slowly. He reached over to put more pillows under Blair's back and ass, canting his pelvis up. He gasped out, "Comfortable?"

Blair groaned and tried to thrust upwards, squirming on the meat that was impaling him. "Fine! Come in, baby, all the way!"

All the way. Jim snugged his groin right up against Blair's body, his dick buried deep, so deep. "Is there any pain?" he managed to gasp out. He really hoped not, because he was going to have to move, and fucking soon!

"No! Quit stalling!"

Jim laughed, and began to move. He was exhilarated and so turned on he thought he could come from just the air currents on his skin, let alone the tight burning ecstasy centered in his cock.

Blair was just not like any other lover he'd ever had. How could he be? This wasn't just any other lover--this was his Guide. Jim's senses were so clear, so strong, that everything was surreal. The strong smell of arousal coming off them was unfuckingbelievable! Everything blended into a sensual haze, it was almost as if the two of them were out of place and time, sequestered from the everyday world, participating in something sublime, and oh, so erotic.

Jim began to fuck in long, smooth strokes.

"Oooh, yeah, just like that, come on." Taking hold of his own cock and stroking it strongly, Blair whipped his head from side to side, tangling his curls, and causing his jewelry to flash in the sunlight. "Yes!" Blair shrieked, "Do me! Fuck me!"

No surprise that Blair was a babbler. Well, Jim could do that, too. "Blair!" Jim gasped, as his hips moved strongly. "Oh, Jesus, Blair!" Faster. "You've got the most fucking sweet ass--" He leaned down towards Blair's face, frustrated that the position wouldn't let them get closer. He pulled back and out abruptly, pulling Blair up and rotating him on his knees.

Both men groaned with impatience. Jim swiftly manhandled the younger man, positioning him just right. He grabbed Blair's hips harshly and mounted him, his long cock sliding home again. "I'm gonna fuck you so hard you'll never leave this bed, d'ya hear me?" Jim's voice was almost unrecognizable, low and primal.

"Yes!" Blair was pushing his ass back against the fleshy rod that sawed in and out of him, and wailed when Jim got the angle just right.

"God you've got a hot little fuckhole," Jim grunted, aiming for that spot Blair seemed to like. "I knew it! Aaaaah! I've wanted to fuck your ass since the minute I saw you, you sexy little shit! Knew it would be so fine. Unh. Unh!"

Jim was mindless now, pounding into Blair. The feel of Blair's scrotal rings swinging back and forth against his body inflamed him, and his hips snapped back and forth brutally fast, all conscious thought lost in the sweet, building burn. Oh, it was so good, soooo good! It couldn't last long at all, and Jim felt his balls draw up against his body. For a moment before his climax, the universe seemed to stutter, and then it was pouring out his cock into Blair, into his Guide, endlessly, for all eternity.

The powerful climax must have left Jim insensible for a few moments, because the next thing he knew, he was on his back, with no memory of pulling out of Blair or being repositioned. Blair was crouched over him, furiously jerking his cock, and the sight of the beautiful boy straining and grunting in lust over him, the sound of him breathing filthy sex-talk, and the feel of the hot jets of semen hitting his belly, overcame him. Jim's eyes rolled back in his head, and he was out for the count again.

***

_Mystical Tibetan Mandala: Sooth and calm your senses and your mind with this intricate spiritual focus. Can be used as a decorative accent to attract the eye and please the sight, or a meditation aid. Beautiful imported textile, a fair trade item. 24 x 24. Choice of red or blue. Invite peace into your abode!_

***

A few weeks later, Jim smiled happily to himself as he turned the steaks over in their marinade next to the grill. The BBQ area was built-in next to the kitchen, in the open causeway connecting the two wings of his home, and if he leaned over a bit, he could see through the kitchen door into the living room, where Blair was studying.

It still amazed him how much satisfaction he got from having Sandburg there, in his territory. The bond between them, cemented now with sex, was an almost tangible, physical thing. He supposed it went with being a Sentinel, or maybe it was just a Jim thing, but either way it was a strong and satisfying feeling. Jim hoped he never lost it.

Blair was sitting on the floor, his back against the couch, and his papers, books, and laptop on the coffee table before him. Daisy was curled up next to his feet, and Kitty was on the couch behind him trying to play with his pen while he wrote. Fifi was near Jim, "guarding" the steaks. The whole thing was pretty domestic, and that was just how Jim liked it. He wished that Blair would move out here permanently, but he understood that step was a ways off, what with years of Blair's schooling to go.

Still, they had spent nearly every weekend together, mostly in bed here or in the bed at the loft, learning each others' bodies and desires. Jim was in awe of Blair's enthusiasm and inventiveness in bed, and more than a bit surprised at the amount of sex he was having--at his age. He clenched his ass cheeks together, feeling the slight soreness and squishiness of lube and come from their earlier lazy afternoon sex. He supposed he should think it was gross, but all it did was make him hornier.

So far, they had managed to bang like bunnies on the leather chaise and fuck in the back seat of the Jeep, but they had yet to delve into Blair's delicious Tom of Finland fantasies. Jim grinned to himself in anticipation of the rest of his sex life.

Fortunately, he could hear Simon's sedan pull up in the driveway, pulling him out of his wayward thoughts. He closed the cover on the grill, then turned to greet his friend.

"Jim! How're you doing?"

"I'm doing great, Simon! Hey, is this for me?" referring to the bottle Simon was holding.

The two men gave each other that manly guy hug/back slap thing. "Yep. I brought the good wine. Are you going to tell me what we're celebrating? You were fairly mysterious on the phone."

Jim leaned over and stage whispered, "It's a secret! I'll tell you later. Come on in." He led the other man into the kitchen, putting the wine on the counter. He called Daisy to him, knowing that socialization with strangers was an important part of her training. Jim noticed that Simon's attention was caught by the figure sitting in the living room, muttering to himself and shuffling papers. "Simon, you remember Blair Sandburg, don't you?"

Simon gave him a look that indicated he remembered, all right. The look was disapproving and rather incredulous, and communicated the message that he wanted to talk to Jim Right Fucking Now! However, he wiped it off his face as he turned toward the living room to greet the younger man. "Sandburg," he acknowledged.

"Oh, hi, Mr. Banks!" Blair looked up from his nest and gave a wide smile, which faltered somewhat as he caught the undercurrents between the two older men. "Nice to see you, again."

"You, too. Will you be staying for dinner?" Simon asked rather pointedly as he bent down to pet the enthusiastic puppy.

Blair looked at Jim for a moment, then stood up, grabbing his Ipod. "Um, Jim, I think I'm going to take a break. Do we have enough time for me to take the dogs on a walk?"

"Sure, Chief. About—forty minutes."

"Great. Come on Daisy, let's go for a walk. Fifi? Want to come?" As he collected the excited dogs, Blair snaked his way through the narrow kitchen, unabashedly giving Jim a brief, but very obvious half hug, half caress as he left. Jim shook his head fondly at the antics of the irrepressible trio  
.  
As soon as Sandburg was out of earshot, Simon rounded on his friend. "Are you out of your fucking mind?" Simon demanded.

Jim crossed his arms defensively, but his voice was rueful. "Very possibly."

"What the hell do you think you're doing with that kid?"

Jim's jaw clenched. "He's not a kid, Simon. He's almost 20 years old and well on his way to a master's degree. He's brilliant—smarter than you and me put together; he's lived all over the world, and speaks five languages."

"Uh huh. And I suppose he's giving you language lessons when you f—"

"That's enough, Simon!" Jim growled. Nobody spoke about his Guide like that. Not even his closest friend. "It's not like that. You don't understand."

"No, I don't. I mean—"

Jim interrupted. "He's the one, Simon. The one I told you about. He's my Guide."

Simon's sputtering stopped. "He's the one? That kid? That punk kid with the beads and nose ring is your mystic teacher?" The incredulous tone was back.

"Yes." Jim's tone left no doubt as to his feelings.

Narrowing his eyes, Simon said, "How do you know? How do you know he's not just a bunko artist picking up clues and *saying* he's your Guide? He could be taking what you told him about the Sentinel thing and using it to use you."

"It's not like that, Simon." Jim shook his head. "He knows about Sentinels—has been studying them all his life. He's in training to be a shaman, too. Hell, he even has a copy of the book!"

"The book? You mean, *the* book?"

"Yep. The Sentinels of Paraguay. He found it in a bazaar in Morocco when he was just a kid, can you believe that? And he's been searching for a modern Sentinel ever since."

For a moment, Jim let himself remember their "morning after." Okay, it was the evening after, but after the traumatic rescue mission and their discovery of each other, the two men had spent most of that day in bed. Typically, Blair had wanted to dive right in to his duties as a Guide, and began to put his Sentinel through his paces, right there in the bed where they had made love. He remembered the intense, *knowing* look in Blair's eyes, and the rich timbre of his voice as he Guided, and shivered in a bit of atavistic awe.

In no time at all, the younger man had pinpointed Jim's biggest problem—control—and devised a simple technique involving visualizing radio dials labeled for each sense. That one little trick, which Sandburg had apparently come up with on the spur of the moment, had given Jim more control over his senses than he ever had in his life. Jim was quite happy about that, although he was also slightly worried, because the kid kept rambling on about theories and tests and data.

"Simon, Sandburg has helped me more in the time I've known him than all the doctors I've seen put together. I don't know how he does it—it's like he has this instinctive knowledge. Oh yeah--he's the one, all right."

"But –" Simon was clearly struggling. "He's so young. And he's your employee, Jim. It's not right!"

Jim sighed. "Yes, Simon, I know. I had a hard time getting my head around that myself. This thing we have—it's permanent. It's a lifetime commitment between Sentinels and Guides, you know? I should feel guilty about that, about depriving him of that free part of his life, but I don't. I can't wait for him. I'm not getting any younger, and I need him now. And as for the employee issue, well—that's part of the surprise, so I'll tell you later." Jim cocked his head to the side, and said, "He's coming back. Be nice!"

Simon grimaced, but just said, "I need a drink. You got anything to drink around here?" and started rummaging around in the refrigerator for a beer.

***

The dinner went well, with Simon trying to be nice, as instructed, and Blair being as charming as he could be, which was quite a bit. They talked about Blair's plans for school, and Simon looked impressed despite himself. He seemed to be warming to Blair, or at least making an effort, which Jim appreciated.

The bottle of wine that Simon brought was savored and discussed, with laughter and appropriate expressions of awe at Jim's description. Blair told Simon all about his lifelong studies of Sentinels, and Simon shared a few stories from Jim's time on the force.

By dessert (Blair's homemade apple pie, served warm with the finest vanilla bean ice cream), all three men were mellow, sated, and viewing the world with expansive content. Jim judged it was time to drop his bombshell, so he cleared away the dinner dishes quickly. He could feel Blair's eyes on him as he went to his desk. As he turned around with the thick manila envelope in his hand and headed back toward the table, sure enough, another set of baby-blues were pinned to his.

Smiling smugly, he slapped the envelope down on the table. "So, Sandburg. I've got something for you. You might say it's a bonus for being the best damn employee that ever answered an ad." Jim's face got that pleased and slightly goofy expression of anticipation that appeared on rare occasions.

Blair gave his Sentinel a direct, searching look, before picking up the envelope warily. Pulling a sheaf of papers out, Blair started to read.

Simon could no longer restrain his impatience. "What is it?"

"It's a Certificate of Formation for SenseSolutions, Inc." Blair looked up, a little confused. "So . . . you incorporated the business. That's great, Jim." But his tone was hesitant, like he couldn't figure out why it was such a big deal.

"Look closer, Einstein. Look at the list of shareholders."

Blair rapidly flipped through the papers. It didn't take long before he found it. Share certificates made out to Blair J. Sandburg. More shuffling. "But – but this says I'm a one-third shareholder!" He looked up at Jim. "Jim, I can't pay for these shares --"

Jim held up a hand. "Listen, Chief, I don't want to hear any arguments. As far as I'm concerned, you've paid for them, and more. Don't you realize we're in the black already, after only a few months start up? That's practically unheard of. And it's all because of you." He turned toward Simon. "Have you seen what he's done to the website? It's like I got a professional web designer for free."

Jim's voice softened, as he moved closer and put a hand on top of Blair's. "Your knowledge and skills have made the business so much more. With the academic credentials you are working on, as well as your shamanistic training, I have my very own . . . sensual expert."

Across the table, unnoticed by the two younger men, Simon rolled his eyes at this, but stayed as quiet as a 6 foot 4 mouse could be.

Clearing his throat, Blair flicked his eyes at Simon, but said, "Jim, I – I don't know what to say." He looked down at the papers in his lap. "Except . . ." Blair paused, and took a deep breath. When he looked up, his heart was in his eyes, but he was grinning. "I have a ton of ideas on product development and marketing. We could market our own brands, totally natural, all Sentinel friendly . . ."

"Whoa, whoa, Chief. No more business at the dinner table, okay?"

"Well, you brought it up," Blair huffed.

Jim reached out and touched Blair's hair, fingering a long, curly strand from root to top. "Don't you see, Blair? You're no longer my employee. I – " He broke off and looked at Simon.

Simon could take a hint. He heaved himself up as gracefully as possible after such a meal and made his goodbyes.

He left with a piece of Blair's apple pie, and a feeling that at long last, his friend Jim may have gotten the break he so richly deserved. Even if that break was embodied in the bubbly, brilliant, beautiful boy that had captured Jim's heart. Simon shook his head. When did he start thinking in B words all of a sudden?

***

In very short order, the Sentinel's lair was dark and secure with only a dim light in the spotless kitchen to illuminate the space. Jim and Blair headed up the stairs, clearly looking forward to further strengthening the bond between them.

Three pairs of eyes, two shining with more than mere animal awareness, followed them. The white canine and black feline listened to their charges' banter.

"So, how come I only get a third of the shares? Isn't this going to be an equal partnership?" Blair's voice was teasing, but curious.

"I thought I'd give you something to work for. You know, like an incentive program."

"Oh, yeah? Take it out in trade, you mean?"

The listeners below now began to hear soft, muffled sounds and sultry tones.

"I didn't think you'd mind."

"Oh . . .," Blair's voice was breathy; distracted perhaps. "I don't mind. And the employee thing?"  
Bouncing and rustling sounds.

"That was just trying to calm a few of my demons. You'll grow older, of course—we all do . . . ," a chuckle ". . . but I was having a bit of problem with the falling-in-love-with-my-own-employee thing."

"So, no more of our special brand of employee relations?" Their audience could hear the grin, as well as the passion, in Blair's voice.

"We're partners now, Blair."

Whispered: "Sentinel and Guide, Jim."

After a few moments punctuated only by low moaning, Blair's voice came clearly. "Didn't I tell you I was your Guide? Didn't I? I told you so, Jim!"

The soft rustling immediately became loud and furious. "Ack! Jim! No tickling! Jim!"

"Consider this a hostile take over! Or maybe a merger."

As laughter and roughhousing gave way once again to soft susurrations, the listeners began to disperse to their own sleeping spots. Catching Kitty's eyes, Fifi gave a slow wink. Wasn't it great when a plan came together?

***

_"If I had ever been here before on another time around the wheel I would probably know just how to deal, with all of you . . . ." David Crosby_

**Author's Note:**

> What I know about rescue or service dogs is bubkis, so please excuse any mistakes I may have made. I am deeply grateful to my wonderful beta, Maigret, without whom this story would be infinitely less readable.


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